Godshatter An Alternate Origin Story
by Mother of Phoenix
Summary: What if the second Highlander movie was just a bad dream, and Duncan found out where Immortals really came from.


**Disclaimer: **I don't own Duncan, Joe, Methos, or the Highlander concept. 

**Authors note**: Purists be warned, I am choosing to ignore the entire second Highlander Movie. Why? For three very important reasons: 1) It was a despicable piece of marketing with no redeemable features. Its plot was idiotic and nonsensical, and in general it was unworthy of belonging to Highlander Canon. 2) Although it claims to give an origin story, what it gives isn't even internally logical. Exiles from another planet? Why the hell would they go to our planet and what's more, why would they become mortal babies? Why would they be doled out a little at a time over the centuries? The prize is to die? Say what? 3) The origin story doesn't actually explain anything. Some major elements seem to be arbitrary rules (being immortal, getting to *ack!* die), but others aren't explained at all. What the hell is the Quickening? Why can there be only one? Why do they start off mortal and then become immortal when they die? And perhaps most importantly, where does Duncan keep that wicked long sword in between fights? 

So I have written a story that explains all these things in frankly such an obvious way I don't understand how the Highlander writers missed it. 

Also, I admit I've only seen half of the third movie and none of the fourth. My disappointment with the earlier ones was too great to cough up the money or the time.

**Godshatter: an Alternate Origin Story**

Duncan slouched on his barstool savoring the rich flavor of his doppelbock. He listened with wry amusement as Joe worked his way through a passable rendition of Danny Boy to please a bunch of SCA enthusiasts. Duncan's eye noted the broadsword slung on one of the patrons backs. It was seemingly made of nothing but duct tape. He wondered what they would have thought of the fine specimen of katana he kept close at hand.

An electric sensation pricked his back. Duncan froze mid sip, alert and in the moment. He then straightened and turned, hoping to see a familiar face in the doorway. Instead he saw a strange man, with spiked black hair and a long duster jacket. They exchanged a tense look of acknowledgement. The stranger nodded his head curtly, then turned and left.

Duncan's stomach dropped. A challenge. The last few years it felt like he was having one a week. Where were all these Immortals coming from, and why wouldn't they leave him alone for a fortnight or two?

Outside the night air was cold and foggy. Immortal magic at work. This punk was serious, no doubt about it. And he had a few quickenings under his belt as well, or else he wouldn't have the power to create such a convenient privacy barrier. 

Duncan had power as well. With a little effort his fingers met the hilt of his sword -- a sword that could not have possibly fit under his short leather jacket. 

The stranger stepped out from the eddying fog, sword out. "I am Tu."

"Duncan McLeod."

A tense smile appeared on Tu's face. "Well met." He raised his sword in salute. "Let's begin."

It was an odd fight. At times Tu seemed very skilled, neatly parrying Duncan's moves, yet he was oddly reluctant in his own attacks. _What was the game here?_ Duncan thought. _Is he TOYING with me?_

Tu caught Duncan off guard with a sudden thrust to the heart. Duncan caught the blade awkwardly. Steel rang on steel, then the point trust deep into his liver. A hot line of pain burned through his middle, followed by a dizzying jolt of adrenaline. Duncan brought his sword up to ward off the final attack. 

But inexplicably it didn't come. Instead Tu paused, as if surprised he'd landed the blow.

Duncan seized the moment to grab the blade in his belly with one hand and swing at Tu's unprotected neck with the other. He felt the magic of his Immortality uncoil within his muscles, infusing him with superhuman strength. The sword carved easily through flesh and bone alike. 

Tu's headless body collapsed to the dew-dampened pavement.

Duncan fell to his knees, pulling the sword out of his belly. He attempted to crawl farther from the body, to delay the inevitable, but the first agonizing bolts caught him before he'd gone more than a foot or two.

And then he was lost to the pain and the pleasure, swept up helplessly in the power.

Something was wrong. The quickening wasn't pure; something tagged along. Not another Dark Quickening. It couldn't be -- he had purged himself! 

His wounds overwhelmed him before he had a chance to figure out what had happened. He fell unconscious and heart stopped beating for some time.

Joe sat on a stool in the back room of the bar, sipping a beer from a bottle. He noticed the corpse on the floor start to breathe. "I put the body in the dumpster," he said casually, as Duncan got up and dusted himself off.

"Thanks."

"I wish you'd take your fights a bit farther away from the bar," Joe admonished. "Either that or clean up after yourself. The last thing I need is to get a reputation as a dangerous place to be." Duncan ignored him and headed to the bar. Joe slid off his stool and limped after him. 

The place was deserted. Duncan had been dead for hours this time.

"You don't look so hot," said Joe.

"I'm completely healed."

"That's not what I meant, you lookÉ odd."

Duncan shot him a glare. Joe felt his throat go suddenly dry. For a second he saw utter contempt on the immortal's face. Then Duncan turned his back on him and made his way between the tables.

Duncan headed out the front door. "I'm very tired," he said, not bothering to face Joe. "I'm going home."

Joe searched for something to say, then shrugged. He closed the door and locked up. We all have off days, he reasoned.

Inwardly Duncan was screaming. It hadn't been a Dark Quickening, but it was a bad one, no question. When he'd woken from death he hadn't been alone, and that wasn't counting Joe. There was someone in this body with him. Someone threatening, succeeding for a moment, to take over.

With his jaw clenched and his hands balled into fists, he was able to maintain in control for walk home. He should have told Joe. Damn it, he needed help. Who knew what was riding him. Joe's watcher background might be able to shed light on the situation.

But he hadn't, and now he was lying in bed in this oversized loft, alone. And who knew what would happen if he relaxed, or God forbid, fell asleep.

"You might as well," said a strangely resonant voice. It was the sound of a chorus of people all speaking in perfect unison. "It will happen eventually anyway."

"Who are you?" Duncan asked.

"Tu." 

Impossible. Personhood never survived the transfer. Even the Dark Quickening had only given him emotions and the occasional memory from the vanquished. 

"It's the ultimate cruelty, I know," continued Tu. "To be forced forever to lose to your inferiors. But that is my fate. The true irony is that had you lost, I would have, too."

"I don't understand." 

"You don't need to. It's hardly worth my time to talk with you. Why don't you just relax, go to sleep. It will only be a few days, weeks at the most."

"And what happens then."

"Nothing you need concern yourself with."

Duncan hazarded a guess: "You lost on purpose. You are a parasite. You contaminated that Immortal, and now you've infected me."

"And I will infect the next immortal you fight, and so on, forever it seems." There was a bored yawn. "You are cleverer than the last one. I'll give you that. It never occurred to him that I would deliberately lose. But then he was quite tender, only a single piece in him."

"Piece of what?"

"Piece of me. Ah, not that clever, I see. Really, child. Go to sleep."

"Who ARE you?" Duncan asked.

No answer.

Duncan stood up and headed directly to a set of antique drawers. He fully expected Tu to try and stop him, but the parasite put up only token resistance. 

Obviously it couldn't read his mind, or it wouldn't let him do Ð this! Duncan reached under some linens in the uppermost drawer and pulled out a 9mm Glock. 

Tu suddenly fought for control again, but it was too late. Duncan cocked the semi-automatic pistol and pressed the barrel against his throat. The Presence tried to make him open his hand, or point it away, but Duncan was prepared and his will won out. "Don't make me squeeze my finger," Duncan threatened. Tu reluctantly backed off.

"You are trouble," it said grudgingly. "I think I'll have to make this a short stay."

"Fine by me." Then Duncan realized the implications of his words. "You switch bodies when you lose. But why would you want to lose if you could stay and control the body your in? What happens if your host wins a challenge?"

Tu said nothing.

"Hollow points, there is a better than even chance the bullet will blow my head completely off." 

Actually, Duncan wasn't sure there were bullets of any kind in the gun. He only kept it around to frighten away the occasional criminally minded Mortal. But Tu didn't seem to know this, and it treated his threat seriously.

"What happens if you win a challenge?"

"I think you can guess the answer to that," said Tu reluctantly.

"You die."

An amused chuckle. "Or perhaps not. Tsk. Really. I have won many battles over time. I cannot be killed."

"But you go to sleep."

"I loose time, and my quest becomes much harder."

"Quest?"

"To gather the pieces."

"You keep saying pieces, what do you mean?"

Impatience. "Pieces of me. You were all pieces of me, scattered through time, embedded in human bodies. Every Immortal. And eventually you will all be pieces of me again. There can be only one. Me."

"Who ARE you?"

"I was a God." The voice was harsh with bitterness. "And I will be again."

"I want to see you," said Duncan.

"Or you'll shoot. I think perhaps there is a better than even chance that bullet won't sever your neck." Again he felt pressure to lower the gun. Duncan fought. His hand began to sweat, and then his fingers spasmed. The gun dropped to the ground and spun around.

Duncan staggered, then sat on the hardwood floor. 

"I'll give you this. You are more interesting than last hundred or so of my hosts. I admire the way you were willing to put your own life on the line for the sake of integrity. That is the true warrior spirit."

Duncan tried to get control of his body again, but Tu's hold was tenacious. He attempted to stand up, but could only crawl back to the bed.

"It is a shame that I picked you, child," said Tu. "I would have done better by letting you continue gathering my wayward parts for me."

Duncan struggled to stand up again. "Don't call me child. I am 400 years old."

"And I have lived as I am for seven millennia. I am the only piece to remember what we all were before. I was the first piece to embed itself in the soul of a human. I have the right to call you whatever I please."

"So what happens now."

Tu didn't answer. 

The prickle of an Immortal woke Methos. He jumped from his bed alert, catching his sword out of thin air with the ease of one who has done that trick for centuries. He padded down the hall to the door of his apartment, checked the spy hole, and then relaxed. He let the sword drop back to it's customary other dimension.

"Duncan," he said as he opened the door. "A bit early to be calling don't you think." 

"I need your help," said Duncan bruskly. He shouldered his way past Methos in an uncharacteristically rude fashion.

Again? Methos thought. Duncan was a likeable enough fellow, but he seemed to be a magnet for trouble. Methos didn't much feel like being dragged into a new crisis. Especially not at -- Lord sakes -- 4 am. Methos let his smile drop. "What can I help you with," he asked warily.

"You were the historian for the Watchers for many years. I was wondering if you knew a name."

Methos shugged.

"Have you ever heard of Tu?"

Methos jumped. As casually as he could he said, "UmÉ let me look that up in the other room. Why don't you sit in the kitchen?" He watched Duncan walk down the hall with a strangely stiff gait. 

That was enough evidence for him. He hadn't lived as long as he had by taking stupid chances. Methos quietly grabbed his wallet from a dish near the door, and then quietly stepped out of his apartment, barefoot, pajamas and all.

It had taken Duncan fifteen minutes to realize that Methos had run away. It shouldn't have surprised him but Duncan had tuned out the buzz Methos presence, the way one almost had to in order to have a normal conversation. When it occurred to him that Methos was taking too long he'd opened his mind back up, and found the buzz missing.

He then spent an angry hour searching through Methos books and papers for information on Tu. He tried his hand at Methos computer, but couldn't hack the password.

In the middle of his search the phone rang. Duncan picked it up. "Hello?"

"Forgive me," said Methos. "But I'd rather not be near you right now. There is no winning that challenge, and frankly, I don't play those odds."

"Believe me, I understand. So you see why I need to know who Tu is."

There was a pause, then: "Tu is a ghost."

"A what?"

"A myth, a rumor, a fairy tale to scare new Immortals with. Supposedly he was the first Immortal to be born. He was born with the memory of being a god. Apparently he so horrified his family that they killed him as a toddler. As an immortal he was incapable of physically defending himself, so he was beheaded very quickly. Not that that ever slowed Tu downÑ"

"I know, I know. How do you get rid of him."

"You don't. If you win your next fight, the resorting of power will make him go latent, but if he's in you, it's forever, or until someone takes your head."

"Why did you never tell me about him before."

"It didn't come up. Frankly, the Watchers have never documented a confirmed sighting."

Duncan sat down heavily on the leather sofa. 

"Duncan, I'm so sorry for you. But do me a favor."

"Yes?"

"Get out of my house. And one more thing?

"What?"

"Don't look me up again. Ever."

Duncan hadn't trolled for a quickening in centuries. There had been times, to be sure, when civic duty or revenge had lead him to hunt down another of his type. But to pick a challenge with someone who had done him no wrong revolted him.

Tu for once was cooperating. It even made suggestions. "Find me a young ignorant one. Someone I can ride for a few weeks or months. Someone who won't fight as much as you. Wealthy would be appreciated."

Duncan gritted his teeth.

They wandered the streets of Manhatten. Even at six-thirty in the morning people filled the streets.

"Remember to deliver a mortal wound," Tu continued. "I have found in most cases this unsettles them enough that I can take over without a fuss, although it didn't quite work out that way in your case. My guess is you have died too often to be shocked."

"Why should I do anything for you?" hissed Duncan. A woman walking a pace ahead turned her head briefly towards him, then quickly turned away.

"You owe me your allegiance." Tu seemed genuinely surprised at Duncan's resistance. "Without me you would be one of these stinking mortals, confined to live your short years in pain and illness. You should be grateful that you have met your God. Not many Immortals will ever be able to claim that.

"If you were such a God how did you get yourself into this mess." 

"An upstart God challenged my chosen people. He was truly evil, not so much a God of War as a God of Cruelty and Passion. Undisciplined. He favored undignified blood as his seat of power. His people indulged in unabashed hedonism at the expense of others. 

"Whereas I have long chosen the spine to be the seat of my power. Discipline, courage, backbone are what I asked from my people. When this upstart began harassing my chosen, I had a duty to protect them and their ways. We fought and I destroyed him, but I was fragmented in the process.

"One day when I have become whole again, I shall hunt down the remnants of that god and put him completely to rest, but I must concentrate on gathering my self to me for now."

Tu sighed. "I can hardly believe that I shall miss you when I move on. It has been refreshing to chat with you."

"I'm glad one of us is enjoying this," Duncan muttered under his breath. He was exhausted. If it took too much longer to find someone, Duncan ran the real risk that fatigue might make him lose the challenge.

Just then he caught the faintest edge of a buzz. He looked up at one of the massive skyscrapers. Somewhere in that mass of steel and glass was an Immortal. Probably just a regular fellow, doing his job, annoyed that another Immortal had wandered into his space.

Duncan couldn't afford to dwell on the unnecessary cruelty of it all. He didn't want to kill. But even more, he didn't want to become a prisoner in his own body for days or weeks and THEN die. 

Duncan honed in on the buzz. He took the stairs up three flights, then headed down a dark and sterile hall. He found himself outside of a brokerage firm.

A spindly woman with unnaturally red hair intercepted him in the office lobby. Duncan fumbled uncomfortably with an explanation for his visit, his eyes searching for a name plaque to give his story a note of legitimacy. Suddenly the buzz became more intense. Duncan turned to see a short, nebbish of a man poke his head out of an unlabeled door.

Their eyes met. The man's brows furrowed for a second in consternation, then his eyes rolled. "I'll be right back, Gladys," he called to the redhead, then headed out of the office. Duncan followed.

"Jason Steinway," said the man as they waited for the elevator.

"Duncan McLeod."

"Lets get this over with quickly," said Joseph. "I've got a client meeting at eight, and I'll have to take a shower and change my clothes."

"You aren't going to ask why I'm challenging you?" asked Duncan.

Jason shook his head. "I don't care. But you might want to rethink this. I know a lot of Immortals out there look at me and say to themselves: oh, he's short, he's thin. He should be a snap. Well, I'm not. I can handle myself."

The elevator let them out on the empty observation deck. Jason quietly unbuttoned his suit coat and hung it on a fix-mounted pair of binoculars. He then gestured vaguely towards the elevator. Duncan sensed magic, and figured that no interruption would come from that direction.

"In fact, you do me a favor," said Jason as he unbuttoned his vest. "I always do my best pitches after a quickening." He deposited the vest on top of the coat. "No sense getting these dirty."

"Are you ready," said Duncan getting impatient.

"Oh, very well."

Duncan attacked. Jason parried easily, and lunged himself. Duncan ducked. Damn, he was slow this morning. They exchanged a few more blows. Then Jason attempted a tricky maneuver. Duncan was able to dodge and land a deep cut to his middle.

Jason looked shocked. For a second his concentration was torn by the blood soaking his white cotton shirt. Duncan tried to press his advantage and found his arms suddenly unable to work.

Tu!

Jason recovered, and swung at Duncan a bit more wildly than before. With extraordinary effort Duncan was able to back out of the way. Tu was fighting him for all he was worth. Tu wanted him to lose, and was doing his darnedest to make it happen.

Biting his lip with frustration, Duncan retreated. Jason smiled cockily. "I don't go down that easy." 

Duncan backed away from Jason's repeated blows. His hands were numb and it was all he could do to keep a grip on his sword.

Jason continued to press. Duncan noticed that he was breathing heavily. Jason's shirt was soaked with blood, but underneath the skin would have repaired itself. There was a chance, if Duncan had damaged the organs beneath sufficiently, that Jason might die before the fight was over.

Jason realized this as well. "Coward," he spat. "You asked for this fight. Be a man and finish it."

Duncan looked for his inner core of strength. He had not survived so many challenges without learning a little magic. Instead of putting the power behind his muscle, he put it into his will, and felt Tu's hold on his body lesson.

Jason closed, swinging at Duncan's throat. At the last moment Duncan met the blade and pushed it to the concrete. He delivered a hard kick to Jason's middle. The Immortal coughed and bowed forward. In that second Duncan pressed, sweeping the sword through Jason's outstretched neck. 

"No!" screamed Tu in a disunified chorus. 

Duncan breathed heavily and waited. He stood as close to the corpse as possible, and was rewarded almost immediately by the first brilliant flash of lightning. His skin cried out in agony at the first burning arc. The windows of the observation deck shattered. Duncan's nerves jangled as power flooded him.

With every spark Tu's voice seemed to grow quieter until it guttered out completely. No sound remained but for the wind gusting through the broken windows.

Duncan covered the corpse with the vest and coat. Flushed with new power, he laid his hands on the headless body, and willed it away to that same plane where he kept his sword. In seconds there was nothing on the observation deck but a drop or two of blood.

Almost on cue the elevator opened and a trio of tourists walked out. They were somewhat dismayed by the broken glass, but none appeared to notice Duncan as he stepped around them into the elevator.

"I'll have to get a note through to Methos somehow," Duncan said that night to Joe. "I gave him a bit of a scare there. I'm not sure what I can do to convince him I'm not going to Challenge him."

"Is Tu completely gone?" asked Joe, uncapping a beer and handing it to his friend.

"As far as I can tell." Duncan took a tentative sip. It tasted wonderful. "As far gone as he will ever get I suppose."

"I had never heard of him before," said Joe. "I'm not sure you aren't just trying to pull my leg. In any case, it goes against all we've so far researched."

"And that would be the trouble," said Duncan. "I can tell anyone I want, but who will believe it? It's a shame really. I think if others knew that by winning a challenge against me, they will be unleashing Tu on themselves, they might think twice about calling me out."

Duncan took a long swig. "And then," he continued. "I might actually get some rest." 


End file.
